


Overcompensation for Strength

by Cumberbatch Critter (ivelostmyspectacles)



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 19:15:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3458720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/Cumberbatch%20Critter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you lose your wife and your son all in the same day, a stiff upper lip is only going to last you so long.</p><p>[Post 2x18.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overcompensation for Strength

**Author's Note:**

> Because this is the alternate version to the other fic I wrote. No explanation needed. Use mental pictures.
> 
> I do not own _Sleepy Hollow_. Thanks for reading!

Abbie desperately wanted to ask him how he was doing. She was also all too aware that that question was not one that Ichabod wanted to explore, or else he would have brought up anything about the past week instead of pushing ahead as though nothing had happened. He did the same thing she did: internalized. Horrible habit, tough to break, she knew from experience.

So despite the insistent words that laid heavy on her tongue, she rashly went right along with the charade and pretended that everything was fine.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to be writing." Abbie shoved her fingers back through her hair and leaned back into the sofa, abandoning pen to Grace Dixon's journal with a sigh. Grace had told her that her experiences were going to be the most important yet; how did she know which ones to write down, if any of them? Killing Moloch, that seemed important enough, but... Abbie didn't know. What she wouldn't give for an hour with the woman. But so much have they given already. "I don't know."

She glanced over at Ichabod, who was at the other end of the sofa but a thousand miles away. She resisted the urge to pry and instead faked a smile, reaching over to wave her hand in front of his face. "Earth to Crane."

He jumped like a startled rabbit, frenzied eyes settling on her for a moment too long before bouncing away. There was infinite trouble in his eyes, things that Abbie couldn't even begin to imagine. "My apologies," he muttered, elongating his spine to sit up straight. "Writer's block, as they say, Miss Mills?"

"Huh." Abbie glanced back at the journal. "Something like that. How am I supposed to know what to write? Who's going to be reading this besides me, anyway? My ancestors? Like at this rate I'll be able to settle down and have a family."

The instant the words were out of her mouth, she knew she'd made a stupid mistake. She met Ichabod's gaze for a split second, watching the colours and light and thought splinter into a million pieces in his crystalline eyes before he glanced away. Abbie cringed.

"Crane, I didn't-"

His smile ground her to a halt. "There's no need for eggshells, Lieutenant. Tea, however," he said, pushing his hands from his kneecaps to stand, "has been proven to solve a multitude of mental distresses, so would you like me to prepare you a cup?"

 _Don't do that. Don't deflect_ , she wanted to say. Instead, she smiled softly right back at him and nodded. "That'd be great, thanks."

She wondered if he'd been that way since the beginning, all emotionally stunted and wrapped up in a six foot too tall bundle of repressed emotions. Of course he had, she decided, but she guessed that her influence didn't help anything. Not a whole lot she could do about that, to be honest.

She'd given him a chance the very same night. She hadn't said so, not in so many words, but it was implied. Jenny had driven them back to the cabin and Abbie had refused to leave Ichabod home alone that night.

_"Go home, Lieutenant. Really, I'm fine."_

_"Uh uh." Abbie pulled off her coat. "Nope, we're having a sleepover."_

_"Abbie."_

_Abbie glanced up at him, the infinite pain and hurt visible under the brooding, sheer minded stubbornness set in his features._

_"Go home," he repeated, his tone dropping into a demand, an order: Captain Crane._

_Still, she shook her head. "Not tonight, Crane," she said softly. "Get some sleep. I'll be here all night if you need me."_

_Ichabod opened his mouth to response, then closed it again. His hands balled into fists, skin stretched tight over his knuckles, and then relaxed. He spun on his heel and strode into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him._

It hadn't been a good chance, really, when he had been too raw over the whole ordeal to talk about it, but it was the closest she got. It was the closest that they got.

She wouldn't have left him alone that night, anyway.

He'd been back to smiles and tea the next morning, Abbie had woken up with blankets tucked around her on the sofa and a granola bar on the table next to her, and a note from Crane saying where he was, and she'd found him out splitting firewood like it was just the usual Tuesday morning.

The same things he was doing now.

"Here you are." Ichabod handed her a mug of steaming tea, returning to the kitchen to come back with his own. "It's not my typical Earl Grey, but until we traverse to the grocery store..."

"Mm." Abbie lowered her mug. "I meant to say, I can take you anytime. Got a car _finally_ , not the stupid rental. Although I still could have taken you..."

Ichabod shook his head. "I'm in no rush. English Breakfast suffices until-"

"Crane," Abbie interrupted. "We can go out anytime. It's not an inconvenience."

Ichabod nodded slowly. "Very well. Perhaps after this cup of tea, or lunch. I still have soup left over, if you wish to join me."

"Sounds good." Abbie warmed her fingers around the mug, blowing on the surface of it to take a sip. She cringed at the bitter taste that filled her mouth. "Uh, Crane?" She wrinkled her nose. "Did you forget the sugar?"

Ichabod looked at her for a long moment before inhaling sharply, blinking rapidly. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant, I didn't..." He shook his head. "Clearly, I wasn't paying attention. Allow me-"

"I can get my own sugar, Crane, no problem-"

Somewhere, in the midst of grabbing fingers and declared independences, neither of them had a hold on the mug. It crashed to the floor with a thud, cracking off into countless pieces that let the tea spread across the floor in a widening puddle.

"Oh, crap," Abbie started. "Crane-"

"Damn it!"

Abbie flinched, looking up quickly.

Ichabod's hand flew to his mouth. "Sorry, I'm sorry, that was most improper. Forgive me, Miss Mills, I'm not myself," he rattled, sliding off the sofa to his knees to pick up the porcelain pieces.

"Crane, don't-" Abbie frowned, still frozen in the same spot she'd been in when he'd sworn out loud. "You're- don't pick that up with your hands, Crane, you're going to-"

No more than she'd said that did the blood well up across a gash blooming on his fingers. He inhaled sharply and dropped the pieces of the mug again.

" _Ichabod_."

Abbie grabbed his wrist before he could put his fingers in his mouth, holding his hand aloft. She stared down at him and he stared at his bleeding fingers, chest rising and falling in an accelerated movement.

"God, Crane, it's just a mug, you're-" Abbie broke off. It wasn't just a mug. Not from the way that he was staring - glaring - at the blood on his hands, nostrils flared, eyes filling with tears. "Oh... Ichabod," she said breathlessly.

"I'm sorry." Ichabod pulled his hand away from hers gently, dashing away the tears that fell with his unbloodied hand. "I'm completely hopeless for company..."

"No." Abbie gripped his shoulder, squeezing it firmly. He was trembling. "You are not. You're not. Screw the company and screw everything and what everybody thinks. You're _you_. Don't be anything else, Ichabod. I don't want you to be."

Ichabod continued to glare into the distance for a beat of silence, then another. Abbie wasn't sure what she was more terrified for: him breaking down, or getting back up.

He buried his face in his hands and curled over, breaking down in the most heart-wrenching sobs Abbie had ever heard.

Just like that, she was grieving along with him. She had nothing to say. Not really. She could say that it would be okay, but that was just another part of the lies and Ichabod had had enough of those for a lifetime. "Shit. Crane." She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and pulled him against her knees. It wasn't ideal, but there was glass and tea on the hardwood floor, and there wasn't room for both of them between the table and the sofa.

She sighed and held him against her legs, holding onto his shoulders tightly. His entire body was shaking with the force of his sobs. The one good thing was that he didn't make any motion to move away.

There were no words.

Ichabod wasn't the only one with tear-stained cheeks by the time that he ended up slumping against her legs, seeming unable to hold himself up. Abbie thumbed away her own tears before he could look up and face the daunting task of carrying on.

"... It isn't fair," Ichabod said quietly. His voice was hoarse, his hair shielding his face from Abbie's view.

"It isn't," Abbie agreed softly. She doesn't reach over to pull his hair back from where it stuck to his face with the tears, nor does she try to pull him into a hug. Those are too intimate, too soon, contact that should have been for Katrina if things had been different.

As if it was confirmation that he was looking for, Ichabod nodded sharply and raised his head. "Thank you, Lieutenant." He scrubbed his sleeve against his face, rubbing his red eyes. He shoved his hair out of his face and staggered to his feet, accepting Abbie's hand to help him up.

"Uh huh..."

Ichabod raised his chin and strode from the room, leaving Abbie in silence. She let out a deep breath, one that she hadn't been aware of holding. She rubbed her eyes herself and leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees, closing her eyes.

She didn't hear Ichabod come up behind her until he spoke.

"Truly... Abbie. Thank you."

Abbie raised her head, glancing over the back of the sofa. Ichabod smiled wearily, leaning over to offer her a handkerchief. Abbie smiled back - there was no pretending, not now. They were hurting with him - and took it gently. "Thanks," she said softly.

Ichabod shook his head slowly. "No... no." There was something in his smile, that Abbie wasn't sure if she was meant to see; he didn't look completely haunted, but there was almost... admiration in his eyes.

Abbie huffed softly under her breath, breathing out the moment. "Let me help with the mess." She got to her feet, expecting him to rebuke her.

Instead, he surprised her. "I'd be grateful for your assistance."

If Ichabod stood a step closer to her than he had the past week while they made new, steaming hot cups of tea, Abbie was grateful for the steadying presence.

　

　

 

Ichabod was thinking the exact same thing.

 


End file.
